Page 43 of Haunted

“Good. Then you can drive me, because my driver’s license technically expired while I was in India. I want to go, Aunt Shelley. I missed you. So, it would make me feel better to know that, if I don’t get the nephew of the year award, that at least Santa’s going to give me a lump of coal this Christmas.”

“Are you staying for Christmas?”

I hadn’t thought that far yet, and I must have made a face, because she changes the subject to talk about the behind-the-scene dramas in the higher echelons of University administration. After that, we eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. She asks about my editing, and I tell her about the outtake reel. She tells me about a faculty meeting that devolved into a shouting match over parking allocations.

“Aunt Shelley,” I say, when the plates are mostly empty. “Do you know someone named Alice Cadwalader?”

She considers the name. “I might have seen it in an email or two over the years, but I don’t think I’ve spoken to her. Why?”

“I met her at the Phoenix Society. She used to live on Denning Court, down the end of the cul-de-sac.” I take a sip of wine. “She said I reminded her of someone. And then she wouldn’t say another word about it. She emailed me tonight. She thinks she might know who my father is.”

Aunt Shelley puts down her fork.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you. Mom told me it was IVF. Was that true?”

She picks up her wine glass, takes a careful sip, and sets it back down. “Seriously?” She sounds genuinely surprised. She waits for me to say I’m joking. I don’t.

“So there was a man.”

“There normally is.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. I never met him. Your mother and I were already on thin ice by then. I was trying to keep things civil enough that I could still see your grandmother from time to time, but that ship had pretty much sailed.” She turns the glass on the table. “All I know is that at the end, Angela was bitter. But breakups are like that. People say things about each other that aren’t always the whole truth.”

“You never asked who he was?”

“I tried. She shut it down. And I had to weigh pushing for answers against losing access to you and your grandmother entirely. And then I did, anyway, because I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut. So I let it go.” She looks at me steadily. “I’m sorry. I should have tried harder.”

“You did your best,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I’d spent my whole life avoiding responsibilities. I never married, never wanted kids. When you came to me, I thought—if I’m his friend, if I give him the freedoms his mother never did, we’ll be fine.” She pauses. “I didn’t realize you were still a child who needed someone to step in and be the adult. To guide you. Not just hand you the keys and say go.”

“If it helps, I think the keys were exactly what I needed.”

“Maybe. But if I’d known how to be there for you properly, you might not have fled halfway around the world to find yourself.”

“You did great, Aunt Shelley. It was a tough situation with no rule book. And I did find myself, so it’s fine.”

She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that has grief behind it. “You’re made of tough stuff, Parker Jonathan Bishop. But that doesn’t mean you should have had to be.”

We’re quiet for a moment.

“What do you think I should do?” I ask. “About Alice.”

“I think you should meet her. If there’s a chance you have family out there—real, living family—you deserve to know.”

I nod. She’s right, and I knew she would say that. It’s what I would say to anyone else.

“There was a run-in. At Captain Eddie’s, of all places. This girl insisted we’d gone to high school together, so therefore we should be best friends. I know she didn’t mean harm, but it was humiliating. I don’t even know why. It was like she saw Parker Bishop, Fire Orphan, and the more I pushed back the more she dug in, and at the end I just exploded. And Lance was there, which made it worse. It was like a bad dream.”

Aunt Shelley sets her glass down. “Did she ask you a single question about your life?”

I think about it. “She asked if I was a flight attendant.”

“Mm.”